


A Shepherd and Her Flock

by TuriansCanDance



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Multi, Pairings everywhere, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Retelling, S-Support Post-Timeskip, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-10-13 00:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20573762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuriansCanDance/pseuds/TuriansCanDance
Summary: Byleth never had ambitions of her own--never particularly wanted for anything either--yet something about Garreg Mach Monastery awoke a quiet drive deep within her. She equally wanted to protect these students and adequately prepare them for a reality that was rapidly devolving into chaos.A retelling of the Golden Deer route, with plenty of custom content and mature themes. Tags will be updated as things progress.





	1. A New Battlefield

### Chapter One | A New Battlefield

Byleth stood in front of the lecture hall doors; the heavy oak flanked by two, deep yellow flags with the Leicester Alliance crest embroidered in the center. 

The Golden Deer—her students—waited beyond them.

She adjusted the thick, leather-bound journal tucked under her arm and frowned when she felt the sheen of sweat that had begun to cling to the cover from the mid-summer heat. She brushed it dry with her sleeve. 

It was a gift from her father which had been presented to her over that morning’s breakfast.

“Here. If you’re anything like I was, you’ll want someplace to tuck your thoughts away.” Jeralt took a bite of the pickled rabbit on his plate, and then a type of panic that only strikes when one realizes they have forgotten something vitally important flashed across his face. “I did teach you to read, right?”

Byleth tilted her head to the side, quietly amused and choosing not to mention that until a few days ago, she had no inkling of her father’s life before she was born. She traced her hand around the edge of the book before opening it to inspect the blank pages. The parchment was crisp beneath her fingers. “It would be a little late now if you hadn’t. I have class in an hour.”

Jeralt barked out a laugh, drawing quick looks from a few of the monks they shared the mess hall with. He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. “I know an empty journal isn’t much, but you’re walking into some dangerously dark waters.”

“It’s a classroom,” she said flatly.

“And you were shoving your sword through a bandit’s throat two days ago.”

She closed the journal with a snap and fixed a look on Jeralt. “You’re worried about me.” 

Byleth saw the natural hardness to her father’s eyes soften, just enough to know that she had hit it on the head. He sighed, but it wasn’t an exasperated noise.

“Yeah kid, I am. You haven’t had much interaction with other people outside of our troop, and even then, I handled just about everything for you. Now you’ve been roped into teaching, for the Central Church, no less—”

The rest of his concerns were cut off; bells from high in the monastery temple rang a gentle warning. Classes were to start soon. Byleth stood and moved to clear her plate, but Jeralt held up a hand. “I’ll take care of this. Go get ready to face those brats.”

She nodded and turned to leave for the courtyard, but not before stopping to give his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be fine.”

Jeralt patted her hand. “I know.”

Byleth had retired to her room after that, leaving her door open to the passing students who were beginning to meander towards their classrooms, speaking animatedly among themselves. As she gathered what she thought she would need for the day—and made a note to ask Hanneman or Manuela about their process later that evening—a few students curiously looked in, eager to see who was living in the professor quarters. She paid most little attention, but one girl, with hair cut in a messy bob that curled around her face, shrieked when she and Byleth made eye contact. She bolted in the other direction, wailing apologies as she went, and Byleth made a second note to ask Manuela about her as well.

Armed with her empty journal, she latched the door behind her and strode to the courtyard where she had been standing for the last few minutes. 

Muffled laughter snuck out from behind the doors and her stomach briefly fluttered. Byleth thought for a moment that maybe something in her breakfast had been sour, but no, the cooks in the kitchen were far too skilled. Even she who had subsisted on basic meals of whatever game they could catch and root vegetables for most of her life could taste the care and preparation in every meal she had since arriving at the monastery. In an academy comprised mostly of nobility, anything less than the best would be unacceptable.

_Then what am I feeling…?_

She recalled the energy that wove through their troop before an anticipated fight, how the men and women would laugh a little louder or argue a little harder. She had often taken part in the rowdiness. Being someone who was never affected by such pre-battle jitters made her a good canvas for others to work out frustrations, and the mercenaries enjoyed sparring with her. They would relieve pent up stress and she would be tired enough to sleep relatively dreamless the following night. Jeralt was fine with the arrangement if no one came out too bloodied.

Byleth mentally poked at the squirming feeling in her gut and thought that it might explain what she was experiencing, though she wasn’t able to discern if it was anxiety or excitement. She had never actively recognized feeling either way before, but if she could follow the example of her old troop, she wouldn’t find her release until she charged forward into battle.

Overhead, the monastery bells rang.

_The only path is forward_, she thought. Byleth let out a puff of breath and pushed open the door. Casual chatter came to an abrupt halt as eight pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

In the time it took her to walk the length of the hall, she deliberately acknowledged everyone in the room with a focused gaze. They all seemed to be radiating a different unspoken question and showing the students that she recognized their queries before formally introducing herself, before even truly speaking with them, felt like the appropriate action to take. It wasn’t all that dissimilar to leading on the battlefield; show your troops that you _see_ them, and they will follow. She could only assume the classroom would follow suit. 

Byleth dipped her head in greeting to the group that congregated around her. “My name is Byleth. I’m your professor.”

Most appeared eager to meet her, but the last to approach her was the young man who had been casually leaning against the desk—her desk—at the front of the room. He straightened, a wry smile playing across his face. Claude von Riegan, heir apparent to the Leicester Alliance, worked his way to the middle of his classmates and Byleth knew she was being assessed. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. 

_Oh, he’s going to be trouble._

“I knew you would pick our class, Teach.” He tucked his hands behind his head and gave her a wink. “You knew potential when you saw it.”

“Claude!” A rather proud-looking boy chastised him, looking utterly annoyed. “Really. You could at least _try_ to act like a noble.” Claude stuck his tongue out at him, which only incensed him further.

“Seats,” Byleth instructed with a subtle edge to her voice. She was only interested in halting further discourse but added a quick _please_ when more than one student gave her an incredulous look before following directions. 

When everyone had settled and Byleth had taken a breath to figure out her next step, she pointed at the boy who had been getting huffy with Claude. It was time to see who and what she was dealing with.

“You. Who are you?” 

The girl with her hair in high twintails behind him clapped her hands over her mouth, smothering a giggle. He shot a withering glare over his shoulder before announcing, “Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, eldest son of—”

“I’ll have all of you doing this,” Byleth added, taking up position on the edge of her desk with her journal open to a blank page in her lap. She dipped a quill in the ink pot next to her. “When he’s done speaking, the next may go.” 

She motioned at Lorenz, ignoring a gleeful Claude who appeared to be loving every moment of class. She doubted it would be a trend that would endure through the year. 

“Continue.”

It might not have been the most exciting first day of her career, but what Byleth needed the most from it was information. As the students shared their stories and experiences before coming to the academy, she scribbled notes and began to lay out her plan for the mock battle at the end of the month. With every page she filled, the rest of the school year took shape.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester was, on the surface, a typical individual of noble birth. Byleth saw the obvious rivalry between him and the young duke-to-be. Even if Claude gave off the appearance of nonchalance, it would be something to keep an eye on. Lorenz had some experience with horsemanship and lances, and a minor interest in magical studies, all useful things. She would have to show Lorenz that the garish, faux red rose affixed to his tunic would be a blazing target on the battlefield, however.

Leonie Pinelli was another student who seemed to evaluate Byleth like Claude had, but she tried to be more subtle about it. She claimed to be from Jeralt’s past and Byleth was inclined to believe her, even if Leonie’s statement sounded like a boast. The charm she wore around her neck had similar patterns to things her father had carved in the past. Leonie probably had the most combat experience among the Golden Deer, and a drive to succeed to match it. 

Ignatz Victor, a mousy boy with round glasses, looked more at home in a library than on a battlefield. He brimmed with pride when he mentioned his mercantile family but sunk into himself a bit when he caught sight of the hulking figure beside him. Byleth saw shame in his eyes, though, not fear. She would have to find a way to probe about it later and noted that it might cause problems on the field of battle.

Raphael Kirsten was massive. He vigorously shook her hand, but Byleth could feel the restraint he was placing on himself. Between his sheer size and goofy personality, it would be easy to write Raphael off as an oaf if one didn’t know what to look for. He was aware of exactly how strong he was, and Byleth found that to be equally interesting.

Lysithea von Ordelia with her stark white hair was quick to mention that she was the youngest student attending the academy, but that she should be expected to perform just as well as the others, if not better. Her voice said it was a demand, not a request. Byleth asked where she felt her talents were, and Lysithea glowed when spoke of her efforts with magical theory. Finding her limits would prove to be a challenge.

Marianne von Edmund had fewer words to say than Byleth normally did, which was a feat she previously thought impossible. What she did manage to work out of the girl was an earnest belief in the Goddess and an incredibly sensitive soul. She found her words more easily when she spoke of wanting to help look after the horses the Knights of Seiros rode. Byleth would have to see about finding something akin to an animal companion for her; maybe it would work Marianne out of her shell.

Hilda Valentine Goneril was calculated with her words, eager to offer a compliment with one hand and the assurance that she was completely useless with the other. Under her bubbly demeaner though, was an intelligence that she was desperately trying to hide. When Hilda stood to straighten her outfit, Byleth saw that she had the natural stance to wield an axe with terrifying proficiency.

Claude von Riegan was the last to speak and gave a surprisingly unembellished recount of his history. It belied his casual tendency towards antics, and Byleth was mid-quill stroke when the puzzle she was trying to solve fell together. He was a strategist, and a methodical one at that. She had initially assumed his choice to go last in their round robin was to out of disinterest for the exercise, but she had spent the afternoon watching Claude watch his classmates. What information he offered fell in the middle of the road when compared to the other students’ testimonies. Most importantly, she found, he used humor as a tool, both to disarm and antagonize. Byleth’s initial assessment of _Clause equals trouble_ still stood, but for wildly different reasons.

“Thank you, everyone,” Byleth dipped her head in appreciation as she closed her journal, hopping off her desk. She moved to the chalkboard and wrote the words _strengths_ and _weaknesses_ in bold. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll meet at the training grounds to work out where you all stand in terms of combat. Tonight, I want you to think about what these two things—” she tapped the board with the chalk, “—mean to you on the battlefield. Hand in a page of your thoughts tomorrow.”

A pause that boarded on awkward followed, Byleth and her students locked in a game neither knew they were playing. She went about gathering her things, lost in which drills would be appropriate to run with inexperienced combatants and was surprised when she turned around and found the class still there. Her back had been turned for several minutes, and she frowned inwardly at how unlike her it was not to notice.

_Is it customary for the professor to leave the hall first or…?_

Marianne took pity on everyone by raising her hand. “Um, Professor? Is class over?”

Byleth blinked. “Yes, I was just about to leave—” but everyone was gone before she could finish.

It was fine. She had plenty of work.

# *

The Great Tree Moon was swollen in the night sky and illuminated the halls of Garreg Mach through the building’s large, arching windows. Dust flitted in the streams of silver light. Jeralt’s boots where deafened by the plush carpet that lined the halls he walked down.

It was so odd, finding himself back with the walls of the church. He never paid much thought to the possibility of him returning, simply because he never planned on it. The night he left with a swaddled Byleth nestled against his chest was meant to be his final memory of the place. Obviously, the fates had a different idea.

He rounded the corner, approaching the wing where the monastery’s massive library stood. Jeralt had every intention of continuing his self-imposed patrol, but the sight of his daughter drew him into the stuffy room.

Byleth was asleep, her head resting on her arm with a quill still in her other hand. Surrounding her were half a dozen books, opened to various depictions of battles waged long ago. One, upon closer inspection, was a rather hefty tome about small group tactics. Jeralt sighed, looking over his shoulder and gauging the moon’s trajectory in the sky. It was late.

Jeralt gently shook his daughter’s shoulder. “Hey Byleth, wake up.” She mumbled something that had equal possibilities of being _diplomat_ or _cat_ but remained asleep. Jeralt didn’t see the point in pressing the matter.

With an amused sigh, he quietly tidied up her workspace, even finding some spare paper and tearing it into small strips to use as bookmarks to keep her place in the books she had pulled from the shelves. He tucked them into his side bag, and then carefully pried the book she had passed out on from under her head.

A warmth bloomed in his chest when he recognized the journal he had given her earlier that day, many of the pages already filled with her neat handwriting. The page she had been working on had tidy diagrams of troop direction and movement with footnotes placing individuals he assumed to be her students in various formations.

“You’re taking this really seriously…” he said, tracing the lines of her drawings with his fingers. “Maybe this place will be good to you…” He could only hope beyond hope that it would prove to be true as he added her journal to his bag.

With a final look to make sure the library was put back in some semblance of order—and to make sure no one was around to see—Jeralt gathered Byleth into his arms and carried her back to her room, cradled against his chest like he had done countless times when she was growing up. There was no mistaking the fact that his little girl had grown into a very capable individual and if Jeralt was truly being honest with himself, she had been for quite some time. Despite it all, he could never deny himself the selfish act of doting on her as much as he felt she deserved.

And if someone did ask him, he’d say Byleth deserved the world in whatever way she wanted to exist in it. 

Jeralt managed to get Byleth into bed without too much issue, and after dropping off her study materials on the desk across the room, dipped down to kiss the top of her head.

“G’night, kid.”

Latching the door behind him, Jeralt took a moment to stand in the cool night air. It amazed him how much the grounds _hadn’t_ changed in the twenty years of his absence; he couldn’t even find sign of the fire he had set the night he got away. 

Coming back didn’t bother him for his own sake, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhea knew Byleth was the very child said to have died that same night. If she did know, then Jeralt feared for his daughter and the situation she found herself in. 

Only time would tell if his instincts were right, but they were rarely wrong.


	2. Setting Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Byleth begins to grow accustomed to her new surroundings, she learns that boundaries are meant to be made and tested. And that not everyone at Garreg Mach is enthusiastic about her presence.

Byleth opened her eyes to mostly darkness. There was a familiarity to this place, in its edges and how they felt just barely out of focus; the way that a dream would become foggier the more one tried to remember it. She had found herself here so often growing up that the quiet fear she once felt had eroded this place into an object of curiosity. Even more so now that she wasn’t alone, not anymore.

Before her sat Sothis on a towering stone throne, her chin resting on her hand and looking rather bored. She was a warm light in the darkness, and it seemed to emanate directly from her. It was only recently that she and Sothis had truly met, but somehow Byleth knew she had always been close by.

“Feeling rather nostalgic tonight, are we?”

Byleth tilted her head to the side with a frown. She had yet to figure out how to respond to this girl’s chiding, or how she felt about her always knowing her inner musings.

“Oh, don’t give me that face,” Sothis huffed. “How much longer are you going to act surprised by my presence? You and I are one, so you best get used to it.”

Byleth nodded. “Of course, my apologies.”

Sothis waved her off with a dismissive hand. “No need to apologize, just see to it that you do better in the future.” She patted the side of her throne, beckoning Byleth. “Now, tell about these students of yours.”

Byleth climbed the stairs and took her seat on the floor with her back against the arm of Sothis’ perch. The girl adjusted herself so that she was seated in the opposite direction, back to back with Byleth with her twintails just brushing the tops of the professor’s shoulders. 

“They seem like a handful already.”

Byleth hummed her agreement. “They certainly appear that way, but there is potential there.”

“What makes you think that?”

Byleth rolled the question around for a moment, wondering if she had a reason. The students from the Leicester Alliance certainly had character, but after a single class where she did no more than listen to them speak, she found nothing that she could directly point to as support for her claim. Yet she could not deny the certainty that those kids were oceans of latent power, they only needed someone to show them how to weather the storm. 

Byleth closed her eyes and visualized the ease of which an axe would exist in Hilda’s delicate hands, the way Claude methodically observed his classmates and played it off as nonchalance. Leonie’s natural affinity towards martial skills. How Lysithea was practically brimming with magical aptitude. Marianne had the heart of a healer. Beneath Lorenz’s posh exterior was a boy with the conviction and morality of a man who would do anything to better the lives of those he served. Ignatz had the sweetest disposition and was the kind of person who would give his last piece of bread to someone even if he was starving himself. Raphael cared deeply about those around him and devoted himself to training to remain worthy of their trust.

No. There was plenty of evidence that her students were beyond capable, one just had to care enough to look. She found she cared quite a bit which was…odd.

“I just know.”

Sothis giggled. “My my, you are quite confident.”

Byleth hummed another acknowledgment, suddenly feeling exhausted. Behind her, Sothis stifled a yawn. The young woman started saying something, but sleep was persistently tugging at the back of Byleth’s mind. She closed her eyes for what she intended to be just moment…

When Byleth opened her eyes again, she was met with the sight of her ceiling, washed blue with the dawning light of the morning. It was an odd sight after so many years of sleeping in tents or out under the sky. She liked the comfort it offered, though.

Rolling to her knees and laying nearly face first into the mattress, she stretched out her arms above to the head of the bed, gently coaxing her muscles out of sleep. The joint of her shoulder painlessly popped. When she picked up her head, she saw her books neatly stacked on the shelf on the other side of the room. It was the same moment that she realized she was still wearing her clothes from last night and had no memory of ever leaving the library.

She crawled out of bed and crossed over to the desk, finding her notebook and inkpot with her quill resting across the cover. Byleth almost always left it sitting in the ink. 

“Father,” she said softly, feeling a small warmth blossom in her chest that was a mix of appreciation with a sprinkling of embarrassment. It had been years since he had carried her to bed and the library was quite a way from her quarters. It was foolish of her to get so engrossed in her preparations that her father could effortlessly return her to her bed as if she were a child again.

Far off in the monastery, the chapel bells announced the morning. Jeralt would still be asleep, which meant she could complete her part of the tradition.

Byleth changed out of her rumpled clothes from the day before, donning a pair of simple black slacks which she tucked into her boots and one of the white, gold-embroidered academy blouses. She practiced a few lunges and pantomimed a parry, testing the maneuverability of her outfit and found nothing restricted her movements. She had plans on putting the students through their paces.

The world outside her room was brisk, and the blue that covered the grounds was giving way to a bright day. Byleth pulled her jacket closer and set off towards the mess hall. 

Byleth entered the kitchen through the cook’s entrance, nodding to the few individuals who acknowledged her. Already the air was thick with a meaty scent of sausage, and one man was coated in flour kneading dough. Byleth’s mouth watered at the prospect of breakfast, but she had something to do first.

One of the cooks helped her find the small-serving coffee press—Byleth had spotted a frowning, dark-haired knight using it the other morning—and they showed her where the sugar and milk were stored. Byleth quietly marveled at the pristine contraption as she portioned out coffee grounds and hot water. The troop never had anything as well-cared for as this coffee press had been. Their old press would complete its intended purpose, but never without some coffee grounds making their way into what was poured from it. She and the other mercenaries had gotten used to the gritty dregs waiting for them at the bottom of their mugs.

As dark tendrils started forming in the water, she leaned over to the opposite counter to steal a sausage link she had been eyeing and popped it in her mouth. Byleth was met with a half-hearted _shoo_ motion from one woman.

“You’re as bad as Alois,” she said with a smile, but moved the meat out of Byleth’s reach regardless.

“Professor, I hope you are not bothering these people.”

Byleth swallowed and turned to find Seteth standing in the doorway, a disapproving scowl etched into his face.

“They haven’t asked me to leave,” she said, pressing down on the plunger to squeeze the coffee from the grounds. The rich aroma wafted up and she breathed it in as she poured it into a mug. She held it out to him. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink the stuff.”

Byleth shrugged her response. She found it interesting that he still oozed politeness despite his obvious issues with her position at Garreg Mach. It was by far the most well-mannered fuck you she had ever received. 

She finished preparing the coffee—just enough sugar to cut the edge of bitterness—and gave a wordless wave to the kitchen staff. Seteth blocked her path for a fraction of a second too long before allowing Byleth to continue her way; the man was making some sort of point. He fell into step next to her as she made her way to the captain’s office.

“I have been Lady Rhea’s advisor and confidant for a number of years,” he began, unprompted. “Along side her, I have ensured that Garreg Mach continues to be a beacon of light for the people of Fodlan. Families entrust their children to us to nurture into the next generation. My own sister resides within these halls.”

“Rhea holds you in high regard,” Byleth responded, adjusting her steps as she walked so not to spill the drink in her hands. She had filled it a fraction too much, and the coffee rocked precariously with every step. When it wobbled too much she would pause, and Seteth stalled his steps with her.

“And I trust her implicitly. She obviously sees something in you that I do not.”

They passed a heavily armored guard as they entered the main hall of the grounds. Her face was professionally stern as she dipped her head in greeting, but it did not belay the confusion under it towards the odd dance she saw going on between Seteth and the professor.

“I was as surprised as you are,” she agreed, though Seteth gave a disbelieving huff. Byleth wondered if he had the intention of following her all day, quietly scowling at the back of her head.

“Let me be frank; I do not trust you.”

Byleth nodded in agreement but said nothing as she carefully ascended the stairs to the second floor, surface tension the only thing that kept the coffee from trembling over the edge of the cup. Seteth still strode after her. He was a remarkably graceful individual, she noted. He had an obvious affinity for reading the movements of others. She wondered if he had battle experience. He moved like a warrior.

“You may have won over the Archbishop by being associated with Jeralt, but that is not enough for me.”

Byleth stopped in front of the captain’s office and used her shoulder to softly push the door open, poking her head in. It was empty but judging from the light streaming in from the window her father would be arriving within the hour. She pressed her back against the door and backed into the room, nodding her head once for Seteth to follow her. He was working up to something and wasn’t going to leave her to the rest of her morning unless she let him accomplish it.

She approached the small table that sat between the two couches and set the cup down, adjusting which side the handle was on. With coffee safely delivered, she leaned on the heavy desk in the room and finally gave Seteth her full attention.

“What would you like me to do about it?” she asked. 

Seteth blinked. She wondered if he had planned for her to be more obstinate; he seemed a little taken aback by her willingness.

“I have some questions I’d like you to answer.”

Byleth shrugged. “Of course.”

Again, he seemed ready to respond to a different reaction, but the hesitation was gone as fast as she had seen it.

“Alright. How old are you?”

Byleth tilted her head, tapping out numbers on the wood behind her as she counted. “Somewhere in my twenties, give or take a few years.” 

“You don’t know for certain?” Seteth asked, incredulous. He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to his other foot. “It’s a simple question.”

“How old I was or wasn’t never stopped me from doing much,” she explained. Her father never let anything so trivial as age block her from pursing swordplay or being disciplined for forgetting her manners, and it certainly didn’t stop him from tucking her into bed. 

“I was born on the fourth of the Horsebow Moon, if that helps.”

Seteth shook his head. “It doesn’t. How long have you worked as a mercenary?”

She tapped more on the desk. How many birthdays had she spent with her father’s mercenary troop? It was easier to count the gifts. One year it was the dagger that now sat at her hip, another was a silver-tipped quill…

“Ten years, I think.”

“Ten years—” Seteth’s mouth fell open, and his brow that had been knit into a scowl unfurled into shock. “That is impossible. If we are to assume you are as old as you say, that would mean you were working as a sell sword as a child.”

“And?” The silence that settled between them was abrupt and heavy. “Would you like me to tell you about the first time I killed someone, or the first time I was paid for it?” 

Her question was honest, as was the way she met Seteth’s hesitant gaze. Traveling with her father was not an easy life, but he had always made sure that she was comfortable no matter where work took them. From the frigid cold of Fraldarius lands in Faerghus to the brutal mountain range that bordered the eastern edge of Leicester territory, Jeralt ensured she was equipped with the skills to thrive wherever she was. Mercenary work? She was good at it. Byleth would never find shame where others wanted to place it.

Seteth closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looked at her again, he was composed with an edge to him that hadn’t been there before. His words were measured. 

“Are you truly Jeralt’s child?”

A flash of heat sprouted in Byleth’s chest and she stiffened. The question wasn’t an issue; she had heard it countless times before. She and father had coined responses of _This man is a complete stranger_ or _Met her on the side of the rode and she hasn’t stopped following since_ because of the sheer frequency they were encountering it. The origin was usually some flavor of curiosity, derived from the fact that she looked nothing like Jeralt, or that previous acquaintances were not able to imagine a reality where he had a child. Since arriving at Garreg Mach however, the question was an accusation. She was tired of defending her relationship with her father.

“Are you truly Flayn’s brother?” she asked, surprised by the quiet threat that bordered her voice—his words had irritated a part of her she didn’t realize possible. She anticipated Seteth to scoff at such an absurd question—the familial resemblance was between he and Flayn was undeniable—but he staggered back like she had stuck him.

“O-of course she is!” He looked away and tugged down on his tunic, straightening a garment that was already pristine. “What an irrational thing to—”

“Seteth, please,” she held up a hand to stop him, letting her shoulders relax. The irritation in her chest faded back into obscurity, replaced by her usual calm. “I meant no disrespect. Jeralt is my father, though he has always been quick to tell anyone how thankful he is that I take after my mother.”

“I wouldn’t know though,” she added. “He tells me she died not long after my birth.”

Seteth looked pained, and he sighed, the tension in the room dissipating with it. “No, I came upon you rather suddenly and interrogated you over trivial matters.” He looked away and rubbed at his jaw, his eyes growing distant. “I’m not sure what I expected to come of this.”

“As you said, this is Flayn’s home. I’m nothing more than a stranger.”

He came back to her and frowned. “You saved three of our students without knowing who they were, and Alois was enamored enough to volunteer you after only a night of traveling together.” He nodded at the coffee table. “You also seem to be the kind of daughter to grace her father with a cup of coffee.”

“Still a stranger,” Byleth said, matter-of-factly. “And the coffee has a story behind it.”

She understood Seteth’s motivations. From just a handful of interactions, it was obvious that he was a man who valued discipline and loyalty above all else. He placed the utmost faith in Rhea’s judgement but even with the untold depths of respect he held for her, it didn’t absolve him of his lingering suspicions. Actions and deeds spoke more to him than words ever could. Byleth respected that. 

“I thought I heard voices.”

Byleth looked over Seteth’s shoulder. Jeralt was standing in the door with his hand on his hip, clothes rumpled from a night of sleeping in them, she assumed.

“What are you two doing here?”

“We were simply having a conversation,” Seteth said, “One we have just finished.”

He dipped his head towards Byleth, “I look forward to seeing your work on the battlefield.”

Byleth nodded in response, hearing the promise of a later conversation in his voice. She didn’t mind. He may not have gotten what he anticipated from his kitchen ambush, but she didn’t imagine it was a fruitless endeavor either. 

He turned to leave the office, but Jeralt made no attempt to move, most of the doorway being taken up by his broad form. Seteth’s height matched her father’s and he met his eyes with an unshakable stare.

“Jeralt.”

“Seteth.”

Seteth could leave, but it would take him squeezing past Jeralt; Byleth knew he was too proud a man to do such a thing. The standoff lasted for a single breath more before Byleth gracefully danced past Seteth, slipped between him and her father and then ducked through the small space between Jeralt and the doorframe without so much as touching either of them.

“Coffee’s on the table,” she called over her shoulder.

“Kid! I had something to talk to you about!” Jeralt said, but she didn’t look back, simply waving a hand in parting. She had successfully given both men an excuse to back away from the other without the loss of pride. She’d see what her father wanted later. 

Her pace slowed as she descended the stairs, fingers trailing lazily on the stone wall. Her boots created a soft _thud_ that echoed off the ceiling of the passage way.

_What the hell was that all about?_

She had little care for the art of posturing but recognized there was no avoiding it with some folks. What was interesting was her father instigating it. He had always been a stubborn individual, but never to a fault and she couldn’t remember a time where he felt the need to stand his ground over such a mundane thing. His words of caution about the church—about Rhea—since their arrival pointed to the amount of unease being within the walls of Garreg Mach caused him. But why? 

Jeralt never indicated any sort of history with the organization, but he had one. After seeing the pseudo hero-worship that overtook some of the younger knights at the prospect of training with her father, he had garnered quite the reputation. A fraction of the amazement came from his renown as the Blade Breaker, famed mercenary of Fodlan and beyond, but not enough to equate for the bulk of the fawning that practically fell at his feet. His separation with the church must have been an amicable one at the very least, but it made the question of why even more puzzling.

Byleth hopped from the last step into a lively morning. Clergy milled about, speaking among themselves while students with an apparent drive for education were practicing magic theory well before breakfast, tentative energy being coaxed into reality. A wyvern cast a shadow from overhead as it and its rider patrolled the skies.

She stretched her arms above her head, reveling the warmth of the sun on her fingertips. She would ask Jeralt about it later.

Byleth set off in a steady jog to the training grounds.

# *

Claude landed in the dirt with an undignified grunt, sprawled on his back and chest heaving with exertion. He lifted his head a fraction to look at his professor who was standing in the same place she had been before she had abruptly swept his feet out from under him. Again. 

“I think I’m done.”

“Stop trying to force an opening. It only works when you severely outclass your opponent.”

“C’mon Teach,” he groaned, dropping his head. “You’re a trained mercenary. Take it easy on me.”

Byleth let the training sword drop to the ground and offered her hand, helping pull him to his feet. “Dimitri and Edelgard certainly won’t.”

Claude casually waved her words away, brushing himself off as he went to join his classmates, but Byleth didn’t push the issue. How much of his griping was an act? He was the only one in her class she had seen in actual combat and he had handled himself remarkably well at the time. His attacks against her today were sloppy, though. Careless. She filed it away for later. 

Picking up her discarded weapon, she shifted her gaze to the final student.

“Hilda, you’re next.”

The girl gave a sweet smile and tucked her hands behind her back, making an effort to appear smaller. “Professor, I’d really hate for someone with your talent to waste time training me. Take my word, I’m really not cut out for this sort of thing.”

Byleth hummed noncommittally, tapping a finger on the hilt of the training sword she had planted firmly in the ground. “Show me.”

Hilda’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. She radiated delicate poise, but her pursed lips telegraphed her irritation. Her tactic of offering a compliment with one hand and self-deprecation with the other was a potent combination when played to the sensibilities of a noble. Save the pretty young damsel with your superior skills, it said. Byleth had neither the upbringing of a noble, nor saw her as a victim, so the effect was lost on her. She was willing to play Hilda’s game, however long she wanted to continue it.

Hilda sighed, shrugging with her hands as she came to the same conclusion. Different person required different tactics. “Alright, professor.”

She approached the weapon rack and made a show of not knowing which one to pick, letting out sighs of varying exasperation, flitting from sword to spear to bow. She turned on her heel and pressed a hand to her face, feigning confusion.

“Professor, I don’t know. These all seem too much for me. I think I’m more suited for a support role than combat.”

“I’ve seen your reason and faith scores,” Clause teased from his perch on the wall. “We’d all be dead if left in your capable hands.”

“If that’s what you want to do, then we can focus on that.” Byleth said, shifting her head just enough to cast a warning glare in Claude’s direction. His eyebrows rose a fraction in surprise and threw his hands up in surrender. 

Byleth picked up a training axe from the rack and offered it to Hilda. “If you would humor me.”

Hilda eyed her professor suspiciously but accepted the wooden weapon into her hands, unable to stop herself from testing its weight. It was a natural habit of those who could excel in martial skills, and Byleth felt the pleasant warm joy of being right. “I wouldn’t peg you for the joking type.”

“People have undiscovered talents,” Byleth said as she lightly pulled back on Hilda’s shoulders, straightening them into proper position. She tapped her foot against the inside of Hilda’s boot, nudging her feet into a wider stance. Standing behind her, Byleth adjusted Hilda’s grip—pleased to see that only a minor adjustment was needed—and helped her through a few practice swings. Byleth could feel Hilda holding herself back, tense with the effort.

Stepping back, she assumed a relaxed stance with her training sword gripped loosely in her hand. She nodded once to Hilda. 

“Whenever you’re ready, I want you to knock my weapon from my hand.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The girl frowned, unconvinced. She had watched Byleth knock Claude into the dirt over and over. The same woman had Raphael dancing around just trying to land a grazing blow, and he was still sweating minutes later. Lysithea and Marianne both looked exhausted after the professor had them casting spells until they could barely manage a spark. She had tasked Lorenz and Leonie to work together to strike her. Leonie had been so close, but Lorenz had seen the same opening and rushed in, eager for the glory and collided with his classmate into a heap of curses on the ground. Even Ignatz, who was treated gently in comparison to the rest of his class, was rubbing aches out of his hands after Byleth had him loosing arrows until he had lost count.

Hilda dropped her gaze to the ground, tapping her foot as she weighed her options. Byleth gave her the time. She was betting that Hilda was figuring out that the path of least resistance was to give the professor what she wanted, rather than fight for the outcome she wished for.

Hilda looked up and shifted her weight, and Byleth dropped into a defensive stance, which ended up being overkill for the half-hearted swing she aimed at her. Byleth knocked the axe away with a casual flick of her sword and reset into her previous stance. 

“Again.”

Her student’s nose twitched in irritation. Her grip tightened and she swung with a little more feeling behind it. Byleth blocked effortlessly, twisting her sword to pull Hilda’s weapon from her, catching it before it hit the ground. Hilda opened her mouth to argue her inability to accomplish her task but Byleth cut her off, presenting the weapon handle to her.

“Again.”

She hesitated for a moment before taking it in her hands, and Byleth saw the shift in her demeanor. Her classmates did too as a few of them leaned forward, intrigued. Hilda moved her feet into the relatively correct positions as she squared up against her professor. Byleth waited.

Something sparked deep in Hilda’s eyes as she launched forward, moving faster than Byleth expected. She took two steps back, retreating from the sudden advance; whatever counter attack she had been planning, the window for it was snapped shut. Hilda’s movements stalled, seemingly surprised by her initial success and Byleth seized the opportunity to close the gap between them. 

The mercenary stepped in, hooking her heel behind her student’s boot and pulled back, shifting Hilda’s weight. She staggered and tried raising her axe for another swing, but it caused her to pitch forward. Byleth caught her with a braced hand against her shoulder and with her dominant hand she held the sword poised against Hilda’s neck. Had it been a real blade, the razor edge would be grazing her delicate skin.

A stunned hush fell over the combat arena. She held their pose for a breath more before releasing her student. The whole arena seemed to exhale with them.

Hilda was slightly wide-eyed and Byleth hoped it was astonishment over what she had managed to accomplish. She patted her shoulder in praise.

“That was great Hilda, next time—”

Byleth saw Hilda’s grip tighten on her weapon a second before the attack came. The professor danced back, misplacing her feet in her shock and only managing to bring up her sword just in time. 

The two weapons connected and Byleth’s sword shattered into splinters.

She closed her eyes as wood rained around her, throwing her arm up to shield her face. There was a distinct sting in the hand that had been holding the now decimated sword, and she felt it nearly up to her shoulder.

_Oh my. That girl is quite frightening, isn’t she?_ Sothis mused in her ear.

When Byleth opened her eyes, she half expected to see the small, green haired entity next to her, but a stunned Hilda was all there was. The young woman looked to the axe in her hands, then to the ground covered in slivers of wood and finally to Byleth. A smile slowly crept up to her lips.

“Does that count, Professor?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. Her eyes shone with pride.

“I certainly don’t have a weapon anymore, so yeah. I’d say that counts.”

Hilda let out a squeal of excitement and tossed her weapon to the ground. She clapped her hands together. “Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!”

Her success breathed life into her exhausted classmates and they swarmed around her, talking among themselves, offering praise and amazement. Hilda soaked up every second of it. Byleth stood off to the side, quietly amused by her class’s revelry for the victory. She tried to remember if there was ever a time in her life that she was that excited over something so simple. Nothing came to mind.

She gave them a few moments, picking splinters off her clothes and out of her hair before clearing her throat, having them congregate in a loose crescent with her at the center.

“The mock battle is at the end of the week, and all you should have some idea of where your classmates’ abilities fall.” Byleth let her words settle before nodding to Claude. “Claude, as house leader, you’ll pick who we bring onto the field.”

Claude took a step away from the group and stood next to his professor, his hands casually tucked behind his head. He considered his options, and Byleth saw a plan unfurl behind his eyes. He let out a breathy chuckle and flashed a sly smile at her. It screamed _watch this._

“Ignatz, Hilda, Lorenz, and Marianne.”

The class erupted into arguing, a mix of anger and confusion weaving through the students. The four individuals he had chosen moved to surround him, making their thoughts known.

“Uh, Claude. I can barely hit a target.” 

“Oh no…you really don’t want me on the battlefield with you. I’ll just get in everyone’s way…”

“Claude, I know I just did an amazing thing, but surely someone else would be better suited—”

“I, Lorenz Gloucester, will make sure to act accordingly as a noble should—"

Claude shrugged, indifferent to their qualms. “Teach said I could pick, so I picked.” He shifted so that he could look past the ones around him, making eye contact with Byleth, “Do you have any objections?”

She shook her head, patting the air to get everyone to calm down. Byleth had always planned on ultimately letting Claude make the decision of who would represent the Golden Deer in the skirmish, if only to see who he would pick. That he chose the four individuals who would prove most difficult to coordinate? She wasn’t sure if he was testing her own abilities or if he held that much faith in his compatriots. Perhaps it was both.

She looked up to the sky, gauging the time. “I think that’s enough for today. Drop your assignments off on my desk before you head out, and tomorrow we’ll go over the basics of battle strategy.”

Murmurs of acknowledgement preceded the slow migration of the students from the training grounds. Claude’s classmates were poking at him for his reasoning, some questioning more out of disappointment than anger as they would miss out their first opportunity to show off their abilities, which pointed towards good things for the coming year. If they were this eager now, that drive would only build as they became more confident.

One student however, was furious.

Leonie stood in Claude’s way, arms stiffly crossed over her chest. She glowered at the would-be Alliance leader. “I should be out there.”

Claude opened his mouth to protest, but Byleth spoke over him, her voice carrying the edge of a threat. “Leonie.” 

Her father’s old apprentice moved out of the path of her classmates, all who quickly exited, but her glare remain fixed on Byleth. Uninterested in goading the girl into a fury, Byleth set to tidying the arena, putting training weapons back on their racks. She did her best to clear the biggest pieces of wood from the dirt but would have to alert a groundkeeper that it would need more attention later. Meanwhile, Leonie paced in the corner.

It was only when Byleth had finished her work that she stalked up to her professor, steel sword in either hand. She roughly presented one to Byleth, fire burning behind her eyes.

“Fight me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt. Chapter Name: Hilda's Crest Triggers and then She Crits, Seteth has Trust Issues, Leonie Gonna Rumble
> 
> Good to know that my drive for writing ebbs and flows like it used to. Frustrated that there were literally MONTHS between the first chapter and this one, but whatever. I feel like the next chapter won't take as long. Hopefully.


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